


Building Castles in the Air

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Frottage, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has a secret career. One he would have been quite happy for no one to find out about. It all would have been fine if it wasn't for that meddling Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building Castles in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt Secret romance novel/fanfic. I had no idea what to do. There was a suggested (brokentoy) that Derek is a fanfic writer and needs a beta (kinda meta) and another (laraneia) that Stiles writes bad fic about him and Derek and Derek finds it and these are marvelous ideas. In the end, I decided that Derek would be the one with a life as a secret romance novelist who needs to hide his comp copies better.

Derek’s blood ran cold when he saw Stiles thumbing through the novel. He was suddenly glad that Stiles wasn’t a wolf (His feelings change. They’d be linked, inextricably, but also Stiles can be something more of an equal if he isn’t a beta to Derek’s alpha and he likes that more than having Stiles constantly… It gives him a headache even his wolf powers can’t cope with). Stiles couldn’t hear the panicked up-kick in the beat of his heart nor see the tiny bead of sweat he could feel pearling at his temple.

“This is a hoot! A hoot - which means something really funny. Not like a owl. Twit-twoo.” Stiles let loose a laugh, uncomfortable in the face of Derek's impassive (and secretly panicked) staring. “I bet it belongs to Erica. Or- oh my god – to Isaac.” He laughed again.

Derek tried to calm down. He shouldn’t be worried. All he needed to do was nod and walk away. Now. Anytime now. The book looked- Yeah. The book was a screaming red beacon, two shirtless guys entwined on the soft focus cover, a curving font delicately inscribing the title in a tasteful pale gold. It screamed romance novel. Worse. It screamed homoerotic romance novel.

“Look at this. Some of these euphemisms. ‘Man cannon’!” Stiles had the book open to halfway and, of course, he would find one of those passages. “I suppose they didn’t use the word ‘sex’ to describe bits at least.” Stiles licked his finger to help him turn the page, seemingly caught up in the text now. He squirmed and Derek caught the faint scent of arousal. He leaned against the door frame and watched.

Stiles was now flickering glances between the pages and Derek. “’He wasn’t sure he should be kissing the boy. The age difference…’” Stiles turned another page. “’His fingers grasped for purchase against the stubble of his haircut, hauling him closer.’ This sounds-” Stiles glanced up guiltily, skimming through the pages. His eyes widened, Bambi like, before he slammed the book shut. “Must belong to Erica.” His voice was breathy, a mix of turned on and embarrassed. Derek liked it when Stiles sounded like that.

“I hope not. She’s already over-invested in-“ Derek let his eyebrows rise. He wanted desperately to reveal the truth, to explain everything.

“Over-invested in…?” Stiles looked at the book and flipped it over, reading the blurb. “A mysterious loner and a high school lacrosse player.” If the wind changed, Stiles’ face was going to be stuck with his mouth open wide. Maybe it had. Stiles’ mouth hung open all too often for Derek’s entire comfort. “That… really doesn’t sound like anyone I know.”

 

Derek thought the book was hidden, properly. He definitely didn’t expect to find it across Stiles’ chest when he opened his bedroom door. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected to find Stiles in his bed either, sprawled out, all long limbs and sleep-loose. Stiles was entirely too comfortable in his house. His adoption of Derek’s bed was, however, new. A low burn ignited in Derek’s belly. He’d give quite a lot to keep Stiles there, safe and peaceful.

“Stiles?” Derek kept his voice soft but it was enough to wake Stiles. Who flailed around for a minute before realising where he was. He still clutched the book as he looked through half open eyes at Derek.

“Hey-y. I got here and used the spare key and must have…” Stiles looked around, avoiding Derek’s eyes. Then he pushed himself up. “So this book is all kinds of spooky and my life. My question is, who wrote it? Lydia? Jackson? Danny?” Stiles was sitting cross-legged in the nest of blankets now. “And although I find myself seriously questioning the thesaurus use – I mean, fuzzy balls do not need described in that level of detail – it’s kinda nice.”

“And you had to know what happens at the end?” Derek shut the door behind him. The house was empty, just him and Stiles here. 

“I think the author left it hanging in hope of a sequel.” Stiles nodded wisely, mouth hanging open in grin. He still didn’t move from the middle of Derek’s bed. “It’s like he was scared.”

“He?” Derek could feel his eyebrows rising. He was torn. Part of him was desperate to play this out, make Stiles spill everything. On the other hand, he’d managed to keep this secret for so long. Admitting nothing was the safest course of action. “How do you know…?”

“Because no matter what you think, I’m not stupid.” Derek entertained a vain hope that Stiles was going to get off the bed when he started moving. But instead Stiles was wriggling around, kicking the sheets down and tugging off his shirt and Derek had to stop him. He couldn’t- It wasn’t right- Stiles was too- Stiles was everything.

Derek flew across the floor, grabbing Stiles to stop him taking off any more clothes. “What are you doing?” He realised then just what a precarious position he was in. Stiles was stretched out, shirtless, chest rising and falling under him, heartbeat resounding quicker and quicker. Derek could feel his pulse where his hands had grabbed for Stiles’ wrists, pinning them above his head. Their mouths were level, their eyes looking directly at each other, no subterfuge possible.

“I’m not stupid, Derek.” Stiles repeated it, all his usual façade of humor and bluster gone. He was serious. “I worked it out the first time you saw me with the book.”

“I don’t talk about it.” Derek couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Everything he’d gone through when writing the book came back to him – the longing, the fear of hurting Stiles or being hurt himself. Rejection.

“At least you didn’t call me Bilinski.” The joking smile that had been pasted on Stiles’ face slipped off and a serious, deadly serious, quiet took its place. “How did you want it to end?”

Derek buried his face in the curve of Stiles’ neck. His scent was overwhelming. His pale skin was an invitation to mark. It was also easier to speak when he wasn’t facing those penetrating clever eyes. “I think you know.”

“Use words, Derek.” The way Stiles kept saying his name, rough, low and demanding sent spikes of want/take/have down Derek’s back, as bad as anything he’d described in his writing.

“Laura started it. I just- It was a revenue stream.” Derek had to resist the urge to lick Stiles’ neck. It took a lot of willpower.

Stiles shifted under him, his hips brushing up against Derek’s. “Because werewolves write gay porn for money.” 

“It’s romance,” Derek protested. Then he realised how ridiculous he sounded. Stiles got it though.

“Tell me how you wanted it to end. Please.” Stiles was hard now, hips rolling more and more urgently against Derek. The enormity of everything they were about to do hit Derek. He couldn’t wait any longer. Derek crashed his mouth against Stiles’, lips already parted. Stiles was more than ready for him, hands scrabbling to get free from Derek’s hold. Derek wasn’t going to admit that he was this close to coming already, just from the feel of Stiles’ skin, the undulations of his hips and the way his scent deepened, already musky, adult and ready. Derek wondered if he could hold out when Stiles started spilling noises, a plethora of moans and groans and bitten off exhalations of his name. Then he realised he’d been too long in waiting. There was no holding back.

Stiles came first and the heat, the way Stiles went lax and pliant under him, made Derek grind down and come, shaking, with Stiles kissing at his mouth, his jaw, his cheek. Derek rose up, finally freeing Stiles’ hands, kissing the wrists to make sure he hadn’t left any bruises. Stiles didn’t move, watching Derek sleepily.

“Orgasms? That’s how you wanted it to end, right?” There was another question hidden in amongst the words. Typical Stiles.

Derek decided it was probably time he stopped being a coward. “It’s a romance. I wanted it to end with happy ever after.” That made him feel more naked and exposed than the fact he’d stripped off his shirts and his pants were hanging open. It made the moment feel more intimate than the kissing and the rutting and everything.

“Yeah?” Stiles nestled into the bed like he belonged. “Me too.”


End file.
